


Christmas Culinary Chaos

by whatsacleverusername



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, Christmas, Dialogue Heavy, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Bonding, Father-Son Relationship, Jonathan Crane Has Daddy Issues, Light Angst, M/M, Pre Christmas Dinner, as in problems with his dad and being a dad himself lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:15:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28328109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatsacleverusername/pseuds/whatsacleverusername
Summary: An actually on time present for two of my best friends, featuring their characters Pickering Crane and Tucker Vision respectively- two of Jon's gaggle of kid figures in our weird sorta verse, in addition to those (Drury, Molly, Tommy) that adopted him in my main verse.
Relationships: Bookworm & Drury Walker, Bookworm & Original Male Character(s), Jonathan Crane & Drury Walker, Jonathan Crane & Original Male Character(s), Jonathan Crane/Bookworm
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	Christmas Culinary Chaos

**Author's Note:**

  * For [D_cassidy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/D_cassidy/gifts), [Sam_Sandwich](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sam_Sandwich/gifts).



“Remind me why in the hell I’m doing this again?” Jonathan grumbles, stirring the pot of soup atop the stove.

“Because you insisted on cooking and baking for tonight’s dinner instead of letting me hire a caterer for it,” Edwin says, “and it’s something for you and Pickering to do together. Forbye, you _like_ culinary work.”

Glancing at the young man in question working beside him on stirring the brown butter carrots, unable to refute any of those points- _damn his stubbornness and useful hobbies_ \- Jonathan asks, “wasn’t I just making latkes and sufganiyot for Hanukkah a few damn days ago?”

“That’s how time works, yes, dearest,” Edwin answers with a laugh.

“D’you want us to help?” Drury asks from his spot at the table, starting to get up before he even gets an answer.

Everyone, including Tucker- the other included in that “us”- sitting next to him, tensing up at the enthusiastic offer, Jonathan quickly turns around to answer, only to be stopped by a look from Edwin.

Fixing his biting tone before he’s even used it, Jonathan says, “no. Thank you.”

“Oh,” Drury says simply. After a moment, he asks, “when’s the food gonna be done?”

“When it’s _done_ ,” Jonathan answers, bordering on a snap.

“Harley, and perhaps her regular company, won’t be here until later tonight,” Edwin interjects, “thus there’s really no need to rush.”

“Wasn’t Tommy supposed to be here, too?” Tucker asks.

Jonathan merely huffs in reply, setting the lid on the pot of french onion soup and the spoon on its rest beside the stove. Edwin shakes his head, urging Tucker- _and Drury_ \- not to press the matter, as the less than jolly scientist turns off the burner and moves the pot from it, checking the glazed ham and gingerbread in the oven before moving to the island counter to get a dish and another saucepan for the candied sweet potatoes ready. Carefully moving the other pot containing the boiling vegetables, warning Pickering with merely a low grunt, Jonathan slowly pours them into the clean sink, grumbling something under his breath. Both he and Pickering jump- the latter far more so- when the timer dings, the younger man retrieving the gingerbread and replacing them with the carrots, freshly moved to a baking sheet and covered with previously mixed brown sugar and butter. On the way to the counter, however, Pickering nearly checks Jonathan with the sheet of gingerbread, making his father spin around and glare, just barely holding back a snap, in turn eliciting a flinch from the other. Electing to intervene and diffuse the situation, Edwin steps around Pickering- gently urging him towards the counter again- and over to Jonathan.

“Are you certain you wouldn’t like anymore assistance, _Liebling_?” the inventor asks, setting a hand on Jonathan’s arm- only to quickly take it away when shot a glare as well.

“ _No_ ,” Jonathan repeats as he peels the potatoes, an action that shouldn’t be as sinister as it is.

“Oh, well,” Edwin says, nevertheless moving the already prepared potatoes to the counter. Thinking for a quick second, he asks, “have I mentioned recently how much I _enjoy_ your cooking?”

Jonathan merely grunts in reply, moving the rest of the potatoes over to the others and beginning to assemble the ingredients for the marshmallow sauce in the pan.

“It’s rather impressive in regards to skill, as well, you know,” Edwin continues, trying to soothe his cantankerous partner with an appeal to his ego. “No one else I’ve met can get the trickier recipes right on the first attempt, second _at worst_.”

Not even a grunt this time. Merely a pointed scrape of the butter into the saucepan, and shifting to the side to allow Pickering enough room for beginning the green beans.

“Of course, I _should_ sample a few of the dishes, just to be certain…” Edwin adds, only teasing about doubting the food’s quality.

“Don’t you even think about,” Jonathan says, devoid of humor. Looking over his shoulder, he snaps, “that goes for you as well.”

“Aww,” Tucker whines, pulling his hand back from the tray of cookies to fold his arms and pout. “…What about the sugar cookies?”

“No,” Jonathan says, voice tight.

“Shouldn’t we make sure they both turned out okay?” Drury asks hopefully.

“ _ **No**_ ,” Jonathan snarls, turning to leer at the three pestering him about the food. For the _third_ time since Pickering and he started cooking.

His attempts to calm the situation obviously having backfired, Edwin begins ushering Drury and Tucker out of the kitchen, proposing, “why don’t you two help me with putting the remaining decorations in place, hm?”

“But everything’s already-” Tucker tries to point out.

“ _Except_ for the window lights,” Edwin says pointedly, nudging them both through the doorway.

Huffing to himself and shaking his head, Jonathan puts the now dressed sweet potatoes in the oven, taking the pot used for the carrots to start on mulled wine. Glancing at Pickering, now boiling the other spuds set out for mashed potatoes, the scientist sighs and grumbles to himself yet again, taking the last swig of wine from the second bottle for himself. Only _three more hours_ of work to go. Damn his leg…

The ham in its last half hour of being in the oven, Jonathan swears to himself and leans against the kitchen island, readjusting his glasses and wiping his forehead with the back of his wrist. He likes cooking, sure, but it becomes far less enjoyable when making nine dishes and a drink with enough servings for an equal number of people, regardless of how unlikely it is that a certain individual will even _show up_. Having an assistant only helps so much, and quickly becomes a detriment when you’re both moving around the kitchen, back and forth, nearly crashing into each other countless times in a complete clusterfuck.

Looking over at said assistant, Jonathan frowns- more so than scowl as he had been- upon noticing Pickering twisting the crown of his pocket watch, a self soothing action to combat his anxiety when it starts rising too high. It’s logical to assume he’d be equally stressed as himself, if not _more_ so, and Jonathan is a logical man. Usually. He should’ve taken this into account, and stopped being such a prick, sooner. The growling and swearing couldn’t have helped the boy’s nerves any. Clenching his jaw- a stress response of his own- Jonathan sighs through his nose and briefly drums his fingers against the counter before standing up straight again, or at least as straight as ever. He carefully walks over to join Pickering by the stand mixer, under the guise of looking over the nearby directions as well. Besides the ham, the only thing left is ganache for the yule log, simple enough given the cake itself is done. Doesn’t really take two people to make, but…

Hesitating slightly- he’s better at _causing_ fear than easing it, regardless of what Edwin and Harley say- Jonathan asks, “would you prefer to do the measuring or the mixing?”

Quickly shoving the watch back into his pocket, as if Jonathan might yell at him for it, Pickering stammers, “m-m-measuring i-is fine…”

With a small noise of acknowledgement- _not a grunt_ , something softer- Jonathan sets their ingredients out and off to the side, along with the proper measuring utensils and an addition of raspberry liqueur- a request of both Edwin and Harley. He silently scolds himself for riling his kid up so bad as he passes Pickering the directions, keeping the mumbling and grumbling in his thoughts to avoid stressing him even more as he starts mixing the chocolate and hot cream he’s given with the liqueur in the bowl. Jonathan is a _psychologist_ , and a damn good one at that, he should’ve known better. It’s not like Pickering needs his remaining parent to be a piece of shit as well and worsen what his mother already did to him. He never should’ve trusted her for a second- not that he had planned to leave her with a bastard, just like _his own_ father.

“U-Um- Jon?” Pickering asks, interrupting his thoughts. “I th-think- I-Isn’t it mixed en-nough?”

“Yeah,” Jonathan answers simply, setting the mixing bowl aside. “…All that’s left is frosting and decorating the thing itself, right?”

“P-Powdered sugar, too,” Pickering says, retrieving it from the spinning cabinet under the counter.

“Christ,” Jonathan huffs, taking the chilled log out from the fridge. “That’s, what, 4 and… Some fraction cups of sugar all together for two little cakes, and we’re supposed to put _more_ on top?”

“Y-Yeah,” Pickering echoes, handing him the sugar.

Jonathan merely shakes his head, refraining from making any complaints about double recipes and pointless garnish aloud. They both fall silent after that, the scientist glancing at his son every now and again as he pours the frosting over the cake and shapes it. Though he’s relaxed _some_ , there’s still a very obvious tenseness in Pickering’s body language, only making Jonathan frown more. He’s never been good at apologies- always thinks they come out half-assed or ineffective- so what the hell is he supposed to do now?

“I do appreciate the help,” Jonathan finally says, putting the log back in the fridge to cool again.

“B-But you told Drury and Edwin y-you didn’t want any,” Pickering points out.

“From _them_ , yes,” Jonathan corrects. His scarred lip curling in what could either be a small grimace or smirk, he adds, “Tucker and Drury would only make the process take longer, and _all three_ of them are liable to blow the house sky high if we let them too close to the oven.”

Pickering laughs ever so quietly at this and says, “th-they can’t be that bad.”

“Tucker and Drury individually can make basic meals,” Jonathan admits. “Edwin, however, could burn a pot of water. All three of them together…” He grimaces, but with a slight crease in the corners of his eyes and a glint in the ice within. “That thought’s enough to frighten even me.”

Again, Pickering laughs, and Jonathan offers a slight smirk and chuckle of his own to accompany him. 

This time when the timer goes off, Pickering only jumps a little, wordlessly volunteering to take the ham out of the oven. Jonathan sets out a couple trivets for Pickering to set the ham on, both of them then sitting at the kitchen table and allowing the silence to return. Unlike before, however, this silence is somewhat peaceful, certainly not as tense as before. Until it’s shattered by Tucker barging in, running past them to the table, honed in on the cookies.

Grabbing up two handfuls of the sweets and turning tail before either can do anything, he shouts, “Ivy, Selina, and Harley’re on the way!”

Simultaneously, Pickering and Jonathan sigh in shared disdain, the latter standing up to put the cookie trays back in order. Best to enjoy the calm while it lasts, then, and make sure everything’s still warm.


End file.
